


Mortal Trifecta

by doctorate_in_realology



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bounty Hunters, Freeform OCs, Humor, Humorous Ending, Swordfighting, Swords & Sorcery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:09:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorate_in_realology/pseuds/doctorate_in_realology
Summary: Fey and Vi, a lycanthropic Nordic Warrior-Mage and a Breton Thief, are implicated in a province-wide manhunt after meeting Torsten, a grizzled Nordic Bounty Hunter. Things quickly spiral beyond their control, and the newly-formed trio must fight their way out when hostilites spill over into deadly combat.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizu7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizu7/gifts).



> Shifting gears super quick to a Skyrim fanfic!
> 
> Big-ass colossal thank-yous go out to my pals [@nikanono](http://nikanono.tumblr.com/) and [@mizuaoi](http://mizuaoi.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for being absurdly rad as they always are for letting me use their characters—Vi and Fey, respectively—for this fic! Vi and Fey are their Skyrim characters, for which Mizu has written some killer fics that you can find [here](http://mizuaoi.tumblr.com/post/155603812579/skyrim-blade-for-hire), [here](http://mizuaoi.tumblr.com/post/155655700714/skyrim-dungeon-crawl), and [here](http://mizuaoi.tumblr.com/post/157713942684/skyrim-a-penny-for-a-tale), and for which Nika has drawn some righteous art that you can find [here](http://nikanono.tumblr.com/post/155612451245/so-yeah-oc-stuffs-on-the-left-you-have-vi-or) and [here](http://nikanono.tumblr.com/post/155934466805/trying-new-things-this-is-one-of-my-ocs)!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This was written ONLY after thorough discussion as to what the fic was going to be about and what their characters were going to be doing in it, and with Mizu and Nika’s express permission.
> 
> Also yes I'll stop procrastinating and get back to writing Oxton Airborne after this alright I'm sorry this was just super fun. Enjoy!

“Vi, we are _lost_.”

The thief in question, to her credit, hadn’t faltered in the slightest in her stalwart defence of her navigating abilities, despite Fey’s numerous insistences that they were off-track.

“We’re not ‘ _lost_ ,’” she said. “We’re… exploring.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” replied Fey, through a grin both humoured and haggard.

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want to double back through Hjaalmarch and head north around the Throat,” Vi fired back. “We could have been at Markarth’s gates by now.”

“Going through Helgen was faster. We would have been another day if we’d taken your route.”

“And now we’re in the middle of the Pine Forest sauntering around like a couple of gits! Wasn’t much faster after all, was it?”

“It _would_ be, if you didn’t get sidetracked by every shimmer and sparkle along the way. By the Divines, even as far as thieves go, you’re avaricious.”

“Well, then, Miss Big Bad Wolf, if you’re so averse to my abilities, put that honker of yours to use and sniff us a route out of here. Either that, or let _me_ plot us a course and quit the bi—”

“Shh.”

“Don’t ‘shh’ me while I’m chastising you!”

“ _Shhh!_ Listen!”

Vi pricked up her ears as per the command, and discerned from the supernumerary cracking boughs and the multitudinous rustling leaves a sound foreign to the forest. The sound of hooves thumping and crunching into the dirt.

“A horse.”

“Two horses,” Vi corrected in hushed tones. “Southeast, headed this way fast.”

The companions ceased their lighthearted yet increasingly-beleaguered bickering and dove into hiding, lying in wait behind rocks and trees as the source of the disturbance whipped past.

The man at the fore of the duo looked to be of a noble’s position. His vibrant red-and-gold doublet made him as easy to spot amongst the subdued green of the foggy forest as the sun in the sky. The feather in his pointed cap fluttered in the wind.

Behind him was a man clad in armor and weapons—more than he knew what to do with. To be chasing a nobleman with what Fey and Vi could only assume was intent to capture or kill was very bold—either the brigand was a man of enough experience to justify such an unlawful undertaking, or he was possessed of far too much bravado.

In Fey and Vi’s experience, both individual and pooled, it was typically the latter.

He overtook the nobleman, stood in his saddle, and speared into his target’s side, sending the two of them tumbling to the dirt with a _thud._

The bandit pinned his prey against the trunk of a tree and drew a knife from his leg, his arm coiled back and ready to strike like a viper. Neither Vi nor Fey could make out the conversation being held between them, but it was frenetic and furious, that much was certain.

The two looked to one another and shared a nod before moving from their concealments and flanking the pair of men. Vi unslung the bow from her back and nocked an arrow, pulling back the drawstring and raising it to the bandit’s back as she closed in.

Fey drew the blade from her waist with exaggerated slowness, twirling it in an arc while fire pulsed and rolled between the fingers of her other hand.

“How long have you been chasing me?!” the nobleman cried through clenched teeth, trying to turn his face away from the tip of the blade that endangered it.

“Too long for you to make any more of a fuss, _Caidus_.”  The bandit stressed the man’s name, as if to call attention to the fact that he knew it. “You and I are heading back to Cyrodiil. Try anything bold or daring, and I will string you up by your fingers and drag you there, understand?”

It was then that the creaking of the arms of a bow stole his attention. He glanced to the left at Vi, finding an arrow leveled at his head.

“Who in Oblivion are you?”

“Someone much faster than you,” Vi threatened.

Fey brought her sword to a halt at the junction of his neck and his head, impelling him to turn to face her. His hand still gripped the nobleman’s doublet, and his dagger was still even with his mark’s eye.

“Who in Oblivion are _you?”_ he repeated, his eyes narrowing in contempt that was equal with his tone.

“Hands off.”

With a heavy sigh, he slowly released his grip on the nobleman, flipping the dagger around in his hand and passing it off to Fey pommel-first.

“I’d like that back, by the way.”

“Shut up. Vi, take his weapons.”

Vi cautiously approached, giving the drawstring no slack until she was within arm’s reach of the man. She slung it around her torso and sheathed the arrow.

She extricated the ostentatiously-hilted scimitars from his waist, entertaining the thought of either selling them or putting them to use herself as she twirled them with dexterous precision. She heaved the hefty greatsword from his back with a grunt next, holding it upright to inspect the length of the blade.

“Compensating for something?” she asked through a devilish smirk.

“Cute,” came the dry response. “I’d like those back as well, if you don’t mind.”

“My associate and I have killed enough bandits to keep Arkay preoccupied until the dawn of the Fifth Era,” Fey growled. The edge of her blade pressed deeper against his skin. “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t join them for harassing this gentleman.”

“For starters, I’m a bounty hunter, not a bandit” he corrected, pointing to the nobleman before him who was all but quivering in his boots. “Secondly, this man here is wanted for impersonating an Imperial diplomat, forging judicial documentation, and political assassination. I’ve spent a lot of time chasing this spineless little gobshite, and I have a warrant signed and sealed by the Imperial Court in my back pocket to prove every claim I’ve just made, if you’d like to take a look.”

Skepticism pervaded the faces of Vi and Fey, who glanced to the apparently-wanted nobleman in unison. Vi reached into the pocket that the bounty hunter had described to retrieve the letter.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

She pulled high-quality parchment from his pocket and unfolded it with a flick. Her eyes danced across its contents.

“What’s it say?” Fey asked.

“‘This warrant hereby grants freedom of action to the bounty hunter by the name of Torsten to do as he sees fit to bring to justice Caidus Alennius, the criminal responsible for the impersonation of an Imperial diplomat, the fabrication of fraudulent judicial documentation, and for the orchestration of the assassination carried out against Alfred Luptus Julian Cardimus, Viscount of Bruma.’ Bloody hell, I’d hate to have to rattle all that off every time someone asked for my name. ‘A reward of ten thousand septims will be provided upon his delivery unto the Imperial City, nine thousand if returned dead. Any impediment to Torsten’s efforts in apprehending the above-mentioned criminal is considered an offence punishable by incarceration or execution.’”

Vi handed the letter back to Torsten, addressing Fey with a satisfied smirk. “I’ll be damned, he’s telling the truth.”

Fey shot him a wary glare, still far from entirely convinced. She reluctantly lowered the sword from his throat and returned his dagger to him.

He stood up straight, his full height belied by the hunched stature he had hitherto been employing. He towered over Vi and Caidus, while Fey met his ice-blue eyes on nearly equal ground. The steel plates on his upper arms clunked together and his fur collar brushed against his cheek as he rolled his shoulder. He adjusted the strap of his greatsword’s scabbard across the chest plate of his boiled leather cuirass, and the rings of the mail faulds that reached down just above his ankles jingled as he took a relaxed backwards step.

He ran a gauntleted hand through his black shoulder-length hair and scratched at his beard, shooting a glance at the warriors at his flanks.

“Sorry about that, friend,” Vi said through a persuasive smile, giving him a pat on the shoulder as she handed him his weapons. “Mistook you for a bandit.”

Torsten considered swiping the belongings from her and taking his leave without giving them the time of day, but they had at least acted in good enough faith to warrant some civility.

“My throat’s not slit and my paycheck is still standing in front of me,” he said with a chuckle. “No harm done.”

Vi gave a nod and a smile, and turned to Fey. “Ready to hit the trail again?”

Fey didn’t respond.

“Fey?”

“We have company.”

Torsten and Vi turned simultaneously in the direction of Fey’s attention to find a mounted Imperial Patrol approaching them. They slowed to a halt before them, standing in formation as the commanding officer at the fore of the patrol sat straighter in his saddle.

“Good afternoon, citizens,” he said. He faced Torsten. “Torsten, correct? The bounty hunter?

He glanced at Fey and Vi out of the corners of his eyes, shifting from one foot to another. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“We’ve been tracking you for some time. Thank you for apprehending Alennius—we’ll be relieving you of him.”

“What?” Torsten shouted quizzically. “No, I have a warrant from the Imperial Court that says—”

“The Imperial Court,” the officer interjected, “has decided that, given the current state of Skyrim’s civil war, it would be more advantageous for him to be taken to Solitude instead.”

Torsten heaved an irritated sigh. “Fine. Ten thousand is ten thousand, whether it’s from Tullius or the Court.”

“It’s five thousand now, actually.”

Vi nearly burst into hysterics at the look of revulsion painted across Torsten’s face.

“I agreed to _ten thousand,_ ” he growled.

“You are no longer responsible for Caidus’s transportation, and he is no longer being taken across as considerable a distance. The Court has determined that five thousand septims is a suitable reward given the new circumstances.”

Torsten shot back, his arguments growing more vitriolic with every passing syllable. The officer became visibly annoyed at the non-compliance—he likely wasn’t very accustomed to being told ‘no,’ if the inherent haughtiness of Imperial bureaucracy was any indication.

“Fey?” Vi whispered, nearly drowned out by the toxic negotiations.

“Yeah?”

“What are you thinking? Should we leave?”

“I’d prefer to avoid getting involved if we can, yes. Just slowly back away.”

They shared another discreet nod and backed off, trying their best not to rouse any attention. If they were lucky, the officer would be too preoccupied with the embittered bounty hunter to care about their presence.

They turned to leave, and, much to their dismay, found that another band of adversaries had approached them.

Bandits. Clear as day, these ones; no margin for error, as there had been with Torsten.

“Oi!” their leader beckoned, a man with a clean-shaven head save for the mohawk in its centre.

Torsten turned next, surprised by the new voice in play. Scorn danced across his scarred, gruff features, and he threw up his hand in an exasperated gesture at the equation’s new variable.

“Oh, and what do you lot want?”

“That noble,” replied the same man as before. “He ought to fetch us a hefty sum.”

“You’re not going to leave me with _them_ , are you?!” Caidus loudly whispered to Torsten.

“Of course not. I’m taking you to Cyrodiil—”

“He’s coming with us to Solitude,” the officer insisted. Torsten turned back to him.

“No, he’s _not,_ he’s going to _Cyrodiil._ Feel free to whinge about it to Tullius if you like, but I’m getting my full payment from the Court, even if I have to demand it.”

Fey leaned over to Vi, the pair of them inspecting each of the parties engaged in the hostilities.

“How do you propose we go about this?”

“Could break left. Scamper off and leave them to their bickering.” She turned to survey the men behind them again. A sigh broke past her lips. “I don’t really want to just leave him here, though. Things seem like they’re going to get pretty messy in a minute or so.”

Admittedly, a part of Fey wanted to argue, to say that this was his problem and not theirs. But Vi was right—to leave him would likely result in his death, and Fey had enough trouble sleeping as it was. After all, they had held him at the edge of a blade and stripped him of his weapons. The least they could do was offer a hand.

She breathed a sigh of her own, and nodded to Vi. “You’re right. Better that we stay and make sure the grumpy old bastard isn’t run through.”

They turned again to inform Torsten of their staying when yet _another_ group decided to enter the fray.

Thalmor. Three soldiers and two Justiciars strong. They closed ranks next to the Imperials, who seemed as surprised to see them there as anyone else.

“What’s happening here, Captain?” one of the Justiciars barked. “Answer me!”

The Imperial officer exuded agitation. “We’re here to apprehend the criminal Caidus Alennius, the man you see standing there. The bounty hunter there is staunchly refusing us.”

The Justiciar seemed surprised by his answer, quickly recovering with the airs so often put on by the Thalmor. “We are here for the same purpose. You and your men are relieved of your duty and may leave.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, is everyone in Tamriel looking for the same bloody guy?!” Torsten cried out. “I’m trying to make a living here!”

His anger largely fell on deaf ears, as the Imperials continued to address the Thalmor. “We received no word from the Court that—”

“Of course you didn’t. The Thalmor needs him more than your Emperor and his courts do, that is all that you need to know.”

The bandits threw in their two coppers once again. “We’re the ones takin’ the noble, none of you snotty Imperials or your Elven whip crackers. You three aren’t trotting off with him, either.”

The leader sent one of his men to collect the nobleman. He closed in quickly, intent on pushing aside whoever got in his way.

Fey would allow him no such pleasure.

The sword launched from her hip at an alarming speed, and was beneath the brigand’s chin just as quickly. She glowered down the blade’s length at the man perched on its end, his eyes alight with fear not so much of the blade at his throat, but more of the woman wielding it.

“Take another step,” she challenged.

Vi unsheathed the daggers from her thighs and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Fey, the two acting as a mighty bulwark against which any of the bandits would have the displeasure of clashing if they wished to gain any ground.

Arguments flooded the air soon after, each man and woman shouting at the next over who was to gain possession of the criminal, each weapon threatening to fling from their scabbards.

A warcry cut through the din like a sabre, commanding silence. Any who hadn’t already been looking in its direction turned to the source.

Torsten had pierced his greatsword through Caidus’s neck, and the blade bit into the bark of the tree behind him. He tore the blade from the side of his throat and swung back, cleaving Caidus’s head from his shoulders.

The man for whom all these hostilities and shouting matches had originated stood headless, his corpse dropping to the moss and dirt seconds later.

“Now look at what you’ve made me do!” Torsten shouted. “I’m getting a pay cut for that!”

“Fool!” the Justiciar cried. “He was wanted by the Thalmor!”

“And everyone fucking else, apparently!” He flicked a burlap sack from the pouch hanging from his side, knelt down to retrieve Caidus’s head, and dropped it into the bag. “Well, now he’s dead, so I don’t think you’ll get much use out of him. You can all go home now. And you, Imperials—take the body to Solitude if you want, but his head is coming with me to Cyrodiil, and _I’m getting my money._ ”

“Not so fast, bounty hunter,” the bandit leader halted. “That outfit of his’ll sell about as well as he would ‘ave. _We’ll_ be takin’ him off your ‘ands.”

“Want him?” Torsten asked. _“Come get him.”_

Every pair of eyes shared a glance in the silence that followed. Fey shot a look to Vi, then to Torsten, then to the man still shivering at the tip of her sword.

She was the first to make a move.

She lunged forward, plunging her blade into the man’s throat before kicking him to the ground. His compatriots unslung their weapons at once, and charged. Torsten launched into their midst, sheathing his greatsword in favour of the scimitars at his waist.

Blades launched into palms behind them as well—Vi turned to find Thalmor and Imperials alike mounting an assault of their own.

“Fey, look alive!”

Vi rolled beneath the swing of an Imperial gladius and deftly launched back to her feet. She thrust a dagger into the soldier’s ribs, then his temple, and cast him aside. Another attacked her, stabbing his sword through the air. She ducked to the side and swung upwards. The dagger bit into the bone of his elbow, acting as a hinge for her to snap his arm back before driving her other knife under his jaw.

With Vi spinning in lethal pirouettes amidst the Imperial forces, her daggers singing in crimson hues, Fey had all the time she needed to engage the Thalmor.

Fire and lighting splashed and coursed across the ward she had casted. She closed the distance before the shield’s strength could wane and dashed fire across an elf’s face. He howled in agony, collapsing to the dirt and clawing at the helmet inside which his head had begun to boil. She dropped to a knee and threw her arm out to the side, the edge of her sword slashing the side of a Justiciar’s knee. He fell similarly as Fey, pinned to the ground by way of a sword through his throat before he could retaliate.

She turned her attention to the archer at the rear of the Thalmor patrol, an arrow nocked and aimed towards her. She could have sworn she saw his fingers twitch, about to release the drawstring, when Vi slammed into him, tackling him to the earth. Her arm coiled back and came down in a brutal arc, her blade piercing through his helmet with almost pitiful ease and scrambling the bone it encased. His arms twitched and shuddered before falling limp against the grass.

One of Vi’s throwing knives flew into the remaining Justiciar’s flank, forcing him to kneel. Fey bashed her heel into the centre of his face, snapping his head back and dashing him against the ground, before she leapt into the air and brought an armoured knee down onto his trachea like a hammer against an anvil.

The final Thalmor henchman breathed his last, and Fey and Vi rose to their feet, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. They turned to Torsten, who had two axes locked between his cutlasses. He threw them to the side and dug the blades into the leftmost assailant, kicking him down as the hilts still protruded from his chest. He reached around and knocked the scabbard of his greatsword up over his shoulder with the palm of his hand, launching the blade from its confines and into his other hand with breakneck swiftness.

In one fluid motion, he cleaved through the thug’s clavicle down to the bottom of his sternum, and wrenched the blade from the bone with a sickening crunch.

The forest floor ran slick with blood and shards of bone, and the closing echo of an agonized cry signaled the end of the battle.

Surveying the bodies at his feet, Torsten sheathed his sword and turned to Fey and Vi.

“You two alright?”

Vi gave a smug grin and a modest shrug, gesturing to the men laying lifeless around her and Fey. “Better than these guys, that’s for sure.”

Torsten nodded, satisfied with the answer. He patted himself down, glancing around feverishly as if he were looking for something as simple as a house key.

“Aw, bollocks. Either of you see a head lying about?”

“Actually, I see thr—no, four,” Fey replied. “Yeah, I see four.”

“The one I’m looking for’s in a burlap sack.”

Vi craned her neck to investigate. “Oh, there it is. On your left, by that guy’s feet. I said _left,_ Torsten.”

“Yep, found him, I got him. Thank you.”

Torsten brought two fingers to his lips and whistled for his horse, the clarion call resounding between the trees. His mount appeared shortly thereafter, stepping tentatively over uneven footing and disfigured corpses. He hung the sack from a trophy hook on the saddle and stroked the horse’s mane.

“Thank you for lending your blades,” he said to the warriors behind him. “I would have been hard pressed to make it out of this one unscathed.”

“No worries, friend!” Vi said. “We figured we owed you one. Y’know, for aiming our weapons at you and such.”

“You’re heading to Cyrodiil now, I take it?” Fey asked.

“Soon. I’ll head out tomorrow. For now, I need a stiff drink.”

Fey’s lips quirked upwards in a smile. “That sounds like a grand idea.”

“They’re on me, if you want to tag along,” said Torsten, gesturing his head to the side. “Come on, road’s this way.”

Leaving the scene of the recent bloodbath was in their best interests anyway—best that it be in the direction of a pub. The trio began on their egress, Torsten leading his mount by the reins.

“Buying pints is nice and all, but if you really want to pay us back for the help,” Vi began, a mischievous grin painted across her features, “a cut of that bounty would be nice.”

“Don’t push it.”


End file.
